The Rain Festival
by TobyKikami
Summary: A short thing I wrote one day about what I think the Mak are like. Please review and tell me if it's any good.


The Rain Festival

The Mak whistles screamed in the rain. The chimes clanged with a harsh and beautiful sound, the clickers made quick snappings, and the combined commotion burst through the constant noise of a thousand celestial teardrops that perpetually fell.   
The Mak cavorted, blowing a whistle each. Their pallid flipperhands struck at the ground, invariably hitting at least one small puddle. Little splashes joined the fanfare. Whistles shrieked again and again, sometimes slightly decreasing or increasing in volume as Mak lungs grew tired and pleaded for rest, or went back to the whistles with renewed ferocity.   
It was Rain Festival time.   
They were all here at Tanakchitran, the North Paradise. The many little tribes that made up ninety-five percent of the Tanakchitran One Million had gathered here, taking numerous Controllers with them. They all danced in the rain.   
The Rain Temple glimmered blue in the downpour. Thousands of sapphires sparkled from it, and it was impossible to tell them from the rain. That was the point, of course.   
he Desbadeen delegation watched with combined amazement and delight. And anticipation, of course- not one had seen the Rain Festival in full.   
It was time now.   
One million Mak now amassed in the Ring around the Rain Temple, pressed together, gawking eagerly at what was to come.   
For three days they had lived and been happy. Now was the Fourth Day, the Time of Death.   
The Controllers were all ready. The Len-aru had fed, been forced to in fact, just a little bit each, just this technical morning. They could have shortened the Time of Life to two days, but it wouldn't be quite right that way.   
They had told the Desbadeen what was to come. The Desbadeen had protested of course, but it was the principle of the thing. They had resolved it eventually. The Hadelen would not die, but the Len-aru would.   
The Rain Temple opened up, panels lifting out as if to greet the enthusiastic Mak, leaving only the pure sapphire skeleton. The Mak yelled in pleasure and sweet, confident expectation.   
Ten Yuiiko-waettel emerged.   
She was forty-two now, 2.1 Mak Generations. Her twins, Satuki and Janer, had grown to be like figuratively flag-waving Mak. Both had two-year olds of their own. Also twins. Twins were no big deal. Everyone had twins. It was single births that were Big News with the Mak.   
Yuiiko, as the Desbadeen called her, had risen from the top of the Temple. She rotated with the aid of her flipperhands as she addressed the crowd on all sides.   
"Makkoon, bao deshima?" Is it good?   
"Bao deshi," they replied. It is good.   
Yuiiko said something that the Desbadeen couldn't precisely translate. Something to the effect of, "Do you want to kill some Yeerks today?"   
The response was largely positive.   
"Kill the Len-Aru!"   
"Kill!"   
Kill!"   
Yuiiko stopped them. She uttered Mak for "yes."   
It was then that the Len-aru began to fall.   
They were thrown out of the temple from all sides, many in their natural state, some still in Hadelen, and the latter were screaming in utter panic and desperation. Either way they tumbled down the slippery steps of the Rain Temple, down toward the waiting Mak.   
The Mak shouted again and as one, rushed for them.   
That was the part of the event that the Desbadeen had the most vivid memory of. They remembered how the Mak mercilessly trampled the Yeerks underfoot. The few still in Hork-Bajir were set upon relentlessly in one-on-one matches utilizing whatever was at hand, sometimes with the clickers that had minutes ago snapped out pleasant rhythms. Even one-on-one the weak, depleted Controllers were overpowered nearly immediately. The Yeerks detached then. They always did, and the Mak, with cries of delight, would smash them.   
The Hork-Bajir lay there in the rain until the Desbadeen picked them up and brought them to the outpost.   
It was at the climax of this uproar when the cry was heard.   
"Len-aru on the hunt!"   
Chaos broke out.   
The Mak ran for weapons, leaving the Controllers to their fate, running over Yeerks in their natural state. A group of defenders ran to the walls of Tanakchitran with stolen Dracon beams and shredders. The very young took refuge within the walls of the Desbadeen outpost, but for the most part, the Tanakchitran One Million prepared for attack in the rain.   
Five minutes after the first cry, the Yeerks came.   
They had no Leerans this time, but plenty of Hork-Bajir. And Taxxons, of course. No Gedds as far as anyone could see. And Mak. What Mak they had managed to infest, no small feat.   
But nothing close to one million.   
The Mak were on them.   
The Desbadeen didn't see much of the battle, as they were busy bringing the unconscious Hork-Bajir into the outpost and attending to the Mak children. But they heard the screams. And they knew.   
The Yeerks were near obliterated that day on the Mak homeworld. In some odd way of the Ellimist and Crayak's game, that was the same day Katham 777 of the Hett Simplat won the tremendous victory on the Sstram homeworld that guaranteed the success of the invasion.   
But the Yeerks lost the Mak forever, that day. No matter how they denied it, they had lost this time. And the Andalites… well, they were embarrassed that a "technologically inferior" race had won over the enemy they had struggled against for thirty-odd years.   
The Mak would never submit now. To them, interrupting the Rain Festival was unforgivable.   



End file.
